The Hard Way
by Orokid
Summary: Harry always has to do things the hard way and that includes his inability for happiness and other things, like losing who he loves and drinking himself unconscious...


**By**_: Orokid_

**Author's Note**_: I started writing this with no clue of where it was going, but that's a usual for me. Like everything on my profile and under my name, this hasn't been betaed, so there WILL most likely be errors, but I was too lazy to find them and fix them. Lol. So… anyway, I hope that you guys like it, despite the little inconsistances, and I hope you will all review this fanfic! ((Grins))_

**Rating**_: T_

**Genre**_: Angst/Romance_

**Warnings**_: Alcohol abuse. And a ton of angst. Little romance._

**Disclaimer**_: I do not own anything Harry Potter- and that includes the storyline and the characters and everything else involved with such things. _

**The Hard Way**

Harry didn't know what he was doing anymore to tell the truth. Sure, he had the world at his fingertips and he could do just about anything he wanted without the thought of scandal ever reaching the papers. Sure, he went to parties where he could visit the portraits of all the greatest wizards in the world- Dumbledore included- and carry out conversations about Dark Wizards of their time and the difference of those heroes to him. And, yes, he could have his choice of any woman he ever wanted in the world, since they usually threw themselves at his feet anyway. But…

It didn't matter to him if they did. The one woman he wanted could not be his, and it had been his own damn choice to be separated from his dear love.

Their relationship had begun rocky, of course, like most do and sometimes stay- especially if they were with the man he was and had become. He rarely ever came home, and he wasn't allowed to spend as much time with her as he would've wished. At first, she seemed alright with it and loved how he did so well at his job- being an auror with the Order of Merlin, First Class of course- and how he always tried to make a little time in his chaotic life for a moment of her time. But soon, as three hundred and sixty five days did pass, her patience seemed to wear thin, leaving him to deal with her nasty temper and her sudden and strange ideas that he was out with other girls, making eyes at them like he did with her. Even though they were all lies she convinced herself of believing, she was too stubborn to admit that they weren't real and that she was being selfish.

Finally, a little while back, he found that he had reached his limit for all the pain and suffering she put him through. His patience had ended, and so had his relationship with the young woman he knew he wouldn't ever stop loving. His heart had broken so many times into so many pieces, and he even did something he promised himself not to do- he started to drink. From night until the morning, he'd be down at the Leaky Cauldron chugging down fire-whiskey after fire-whiskey, and then he'd go home and sleep his days off. Then, it'd repeat over and over again, and a month would pass with him unaware of it even doing so. He remembered how people there would challenge him to a game to who could drink the most and still stand, and, sadly, Harry always won.

But his prize would always be a pounding headache and the memories he wished could be relived again.

Now, sitting in his common room with a bottle of pure muggle whiskey leaning against him for support, as though it were drunk instead of him, he remembered. It wasn't hard to reminisce while his heart was out to graze and his mind had lost it's way back home, so he'd be there, like every morning, drinking until he drank himself unconscious.

He could blame her for his troubles, for they had begun when their relationship had begun to go sour, but he knew that he could not, for it was his fault alone as to why he had picked up the habit. His family was filled with drunks across the ages, from Uncle Filbert, who died in a bar fight, to his Great-Great-Great-Great Grandfather, Miles Daily, the town crier who cried about his lovelorn life instead of the news.

And, to tell the truth, his friendship with the youngest red haired Weasley man didn't make anything easier in that department.

Fact was, out of everything, he knew that he couldn't blame anyone but himself for such pitiful occurrences that he had found himself in, and it hurt more than the hangovers he found himself having from morning until night- and that was when he would start the process all over again. Hell, some days he wished to pull his own wand to himself and do the deed that many had failed at doing rather than do it the slow way by drinking himself into a deathly state. The reason: it would solve the jigsaw one could call a broken heart, and it would help him get over the one he couldn't forget.

Sighing, the man lowered his head, obviously willing to give up on the strength that dared to move through him now like it did while in his sad state. Truthfully, it didn't seem quite right, but it was all he had now, other than the paintings on the walls that would 'tisk' at him as he would reach for another glass and try their best to cheer him up. Not like they could, but the fact that they were trying at all made him smile- somewhat.

He thought that, out of everyone in the world, he should have been sacrificed so to destroy the life of the evil man he was known for killing.

"… rry?" The voice seemed somewhat familiar in his semi-unconscious state, and he could barely place it amongst the memories that would flash behind his ever-fading emerald eyes. But still, out of all the voice he could remember forgetting (if that makes sense), it was her voice that stayed.

He knew what time of his life this was now, and it killed him that this would be the last of his words to her- the woman he loved so dearly that it hurt.

"Mi'ne?" His voice sounded as though he hadn't used it in years, like he hadn't spoken to a soul since the day that he had been born. It sounded so worn and tired, disintegrated by the alcohol he had poured down his throat day in and day out, and even he had to admit how pitiful he must've seemed. "Wh't 'ou do'n 'ere?" Right now, he probably seemed like he had been taking speech lessons from the giant he had befriended when he had been younger, and he could tell that any normal person could tell that whatever lessons he had gotten he had done badly in.

"Don… alk, al… ight?"

He didn't know why her voice kept going in and out of focus, as if his ears were catching fluctuating radio signals, but he understood enough to know what she had said- but that didn't mean he was going to listen to her.

"Wh't 'ou 'oin' 'ere, Mi'ne?"

Her fingers touched his head, and he could feel a piece of him slip from his fingers- slowly, as if his soul had been made of water instead of that ghostly substance he had been introduced to when he had been but a boy. The feeling of his own fingertips were leaving him, slowly, like the feeling in his toes, and his body was growing limp as she wrapped her arms around him.

"No, do… go." She held him against her, and he could feel the salty tears from her eyes slip from her cheek to his own as she hovered above him. "No… ow… Pleas… God… I … ove …ou… Don… o…"

Her fingertips were the only things that he could feel now, and his eyes seemed to be more than willing to droop and give him the dreams that someone in his position needed. But, still, despite the fact that his body was going limp, he did his best to raise his hand and touch his beloved's cheek, brushing away the tears from her cheeks. A wry smile came to his lips, and his eyes drooped even farther. "I… 've… 'ou… 'oo…"

And…

His hand fell to his side, knocking over the whiskey bottle that had ended the life of a man who couldn't ever be murdered by any mortal. Like usual, he had gone out the hard way, leaving behind only the sadness and longing that the young woman could only feel…


End file.
